All I Need is You, and Him and Her and Those Guys
by Worship My Bitchin' Pen Name
Summary: Someone is murdered at Hogwarts and the Las Vegas CSIs are brought in, but the case is quickly forgotten. Harry Potter CSI crossover. GrissomXHarryXHermioneXSaraXGregXRonXDracoXNickXCatherineXDumbledore...you get the picture. It's cracktastic!
1. Chapter 1

This story is co-written by me (Charlotte) and Sanddobby (Maddy). But I did most of it anyway. If this is like my other stories, no one will read it anyway. Do I smell bad, or something? But whatever. Excelsior!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Once upon a time in a little town called Las Vegas, there was the magical kingdom of Crime Lab.

Or didn't you know that already?

It had been a particularly taxing day for Gil Grissom, as he struggled with the perils of his job and his fractious existence, what with getting guns held to his head and those pervert writers all making him flirt with his coworkers. So when the package arrived at the crime lab, he was not overmuch pleased.

Catherine grabbed the package from the UPS guy. She was in a bitchy mood also, because her ex-ex-ex-ex husband had taken out a thirty-fifth mortgage on their daughter. After grabbing the package, she kicked the man in the shin and went on a crazy feminist rant. Finally, breaking off, she screamed, "How u like dem apples?"

Sara took over from there. As did Maddy.

Thank you, Charlotte.

Sara did not take over from there. The UPS guy ran away from her down the hall, and crashed into Nick. Nick was feeling pretty bitchy as well, due to the fact that Greg had given him NONE last night, so he shoved the UPS guy up against the wall and shouted about how he wasn't going to be kidnapped again, and how did the UPS guy like having a gun shoved in his face? Well? How did he?

The UPS man them promptly began to cry, shoving Nick off him and stumbling through the nearest door, straight into Sara's lap. Sara yelped and screamed "SEXUAL HARASSMENT" and began to pummel him with the baseball bat she was processing. Catherine heard her yelling and ran in. She screamed as well and began beating the UPS guy over the head with a rape kit. "That's what these things are really for!" she screamed.

Warrick appeared in the doorway to see what all the commotion was about, then suddenly recognized the UPS guy as the man who had beaten him yesterday at blackjack after he had been playing for about twenty hours straight.

Then, before his eyes, the man changed.

Ye gods! It was a dancing slot machine!

He ran up to it and began yanking the arm, shouting "Come on, papa needs a new pair of shoes!"

It was a wonder that the UPS guy was still alive. By now, he was bleeding profusely from multiple blunt force trauma wounds to his skull, and his arm was in the process of being yanked from its socket. He began to cry, sobbing "No more! No more!"

Warrick did not hear "No More!" He heard a nice little ditty that goes something like this:

"_Sing and Dance! Laugh and Play!_

_Gamble, gamble your life away!"_

"Must gamble," Warrick muttered deliriously, yanking the UPS guy's arm. "Gamble—life—away…"

"Help me!" the UPS guy appealed to a furiously molested Sara.

"Why should I help you?" Sara asked snidely. "You're a crazy rapist. I bet you beat your wife too!" she realized, and, standing up, began to beat the UPS guy with renewed vigor.

"Wait! I don't have a wife! I'm gay!" the UPS guy tried to say. But they just wouldn't listen.

Then, the party really got started. Greg poked his head in the door. "Hey, guys, good news! There was a record high in murders today! I love death—" he stopped. "What are you guys doing?"

"Beating up a rapist!" chorused Catherine and Sara, as Warrick yelled euphorically, "Gettin' my gamble on!"

"Sweet, can I join in?" Greg asked.

"Sure, as long as you're not a rapist!" Sara cried.

"Just that one time in Bermuda!" Greg responded, and jumped in, eager to get his licks in. He picked up an electron microscope and dropped it on the UPS guy's foot.

The UPS guy had had enough. He somehow found the strength to break free, despite a fractured skull, dislocated arm and broken foot. He scrambled away, sobbing in pain, with Warrick hot on his heels wailing "Slot machine! Wait! Why have you forsaken me?" Sara and Catherine hugged each other and jumped around cheering, "We beat the rapist, we beat the rapist! We hate men!"

Greg picked up the electron microscope slowly. A single tear trickled down his cheek as he mourned the loss of his favorite toy.

Warrick returned from his chase, hanging his head. "I couldn't get it, it made it to the elevator. Now I'm a hundred bucks in the hole." Sara smacked him across the face.

"You asshole! Now I'll never trust you again! Or any man, for that matter." Catherine looked at her.

"Wait, you trusted men before now?"

Sara thought for a second. "Nope, guess not. Never mind then." She high-fived Catherine moodily.

Nick poked his head in. "Hey, I heard you guys got that kidnapper."

"Actually, he was a rapist."

"I thought it was a slot machine."

Grissom had heard the commotion a few minutes ago, and came running to the lab from where he had been relaxing in his happy place. "What are you crazies doing?" he shouted, upon sighting the rather conspicuous puddle of blood on the floor. "Aww jeeze," he said, "Do we have to skip town _again?" _

"No, Grissom!" Sara insisted. "This time he was actually a rapist."

Grissom gulped. Now those cruddy writers would make him flirt with her. "Oh, really, sweet cheeks," he suavely, feeling sick to his stomach. "Well, whachoo say we take ourselves out for a drink."

He clapped a hand over his mouth and began to cry inside. Sara looked flattered.

_Oh, here we go again, _Catherine thought.

_Is that even legal? _Nick wondered, interested.

_Slot machine! _Warrick cried to himself.

"Sure," Sara said, raising her eyes and giving Grissom what could only be called a very twisted come-hither look. Grissom stared at her, fascinated and repulsed at the same time. She looked like one of those people who was having a stroke and the left side of their face was drooping.

"Sure what?" he asked distantly, still staring at her face.

"I think we should definitely take ourselves out for a drink."

Grissom brightened as he remembered his ace-in-the-hole. "Why don't you take yourself out for a drink, and I'll take myself to the lab. You know, cause I'm like in love with my job 'n stuff. So you probably don't want my baggage. And, frankly, I don't want your baggage either. So let's just stay as far away from each other as possible, okay?"

"Cut!"

Grissom groaned as the director jumped off his chair and entered the set. "Grissom," the man said with a sigh. "I've told you a million times. We _want _you and Sara to get together."

Grissom threw up a little inside his mouth. "Come on, is there anything believable about this relationship? I mean, seriously. There's about as much chemistry between us as there is between Greg and Nick." He turned to see Greg and Nick making out in the corner. "Okay, bad example."

Sara began to weep quietly. "I really wanted that drink..." she sobbed.

The director shoved Grissom into her arms. "Come on. I know that if you dig deep down you can get over that silly no-chemistry-whatsoever roadblock and do what we pay you for."

Grissom sighed again. "Fine, fine. Let's just get on with this."

"Great. Okay, let's go from Sara's line."

"I think we should definitely take ourselves out for a drink."

Grissom swallowed painfully. "I love you," he said dully. "Marry me."

"Ooooooo!" Sara squealed and jumped in his arms.

"How quickly they forget the sisterhood," Catherine sighed.

"Hey," Nick said. "The package! We forgot about the package!"

"Where is it?" Grissom asked.

"I don't know, Grissy," Sara cooed seductively. 'Grissy' nearly dropped her. "_Eeeew," _he said mournfully. "Just get the flipping package."

Catherine produced it from the lab bench behind her. "I made sure it was nice and safe before I decked him," she explained, and held it out to Grissom. Glad to have an excuse to rid himself of Sarah, he put her down and picked up the package.

"Do you think it's a bomb?" asked Greg, eagerly, "Bomb's are my forte. My homedawgs. My G—"

"Shut up," Grissom snapped. "Think fast!" He threw the package at Greg, who caught it and grinned in anticipation of the explosion. Nothing happened. His face fell. "Crap."

"Maybe next time," Grissom said, and tore the box open. Inside was a smaller box, wrapped in lovely red birthday paper. "I'm sure there's no way this is from a killer taunting us. The writers have used that particular plot device too many times."

He tore open the card.

_Grissom,_

_I think you are beautiful. I have been watching you for a long time. I love you. Please come help us solve this murder._

_I love you. _

_A.D._

Grissom smiled. "That's sweet and not creepy, stalkerish, or suspicious at all!" He smiled sentimentally, obviously flattered, and Sarah turned green because she bought bad makeup. And because she was jealous.

Grissom opened his present. "And it's not even close to my birthday—" he began happily, but stopped when he saw the contents of the box.

It was a chocolate bar.

Everyone in the room froze. It was as if someone had touched a pause button to stop the normally active CSIs from their everyday activities.

Grissom began to sweat. He knew he only had a few seconds before—

Oh. Shit.

Everyone in the room suddenly lunged for the chocolate bar at the same moment. Their hands touched simultaneously, and they fought tooth and nail for a taste of the prize. That is, until something changed.

The scene became blurred, like a bad children's watercolor painting of Crime Lab. It reminded Greg vaguely of the painting he had done only last week, but the thought was swept away as he felt a hard tug, like a hook, behind his navel.

The CSIs landed with a thunk on the hard ground, still duking it out over the candy bar. Finally, the feminists won, as feminists are wont to do. They stood together off to the side, hunched over the delicious treat while the Greg cried, Warrick swore, and Nick punched things.

Then, Grissom remembered to wonder what had happened. Some CSI he was.

They had landed in front of a huge castle, shimmering in the morning light. Behind them was a misty lake, with a single tentacle reaching out of the water seductively.

It was the setting…for romance.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bwahahaha. I think we're geniuses, but that's just me. More chapters to come. Maybe even tonight. Who knows? We'll write it when we feel like it. We're looking forward to your reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Read it, God damn you, read it!

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Grissom and the others were led into the castle by a rather recalcitrant old ogre wearing a yellow tunic that was too short for his own good ("Long story," he had growled when Grissom dared to comment.)

After a while of tramping across the grounds of this mysterious castle, Nick had had enough of walking behind this fellow and being forced to look upon his hairy, much-too-exposed legs. So he ventured a faint, "Do you get a lot of babes with that get-up?"

"No," came the gruff reply.

"Do you-do you get mistaken for a prostitute?"

"No."

"Do you realize how much you're disrespecting yourself and your fellow women by dressing in that manner?" Sara interjected.

"I'm not a woman."

"…Just thought that I'd bring it to your attention."

The ogre rolled his eyes. "Bloody feminists."

Another hour or so of trudging through the feces-ridden lawn (no one cared to ask what sort of feces it was) brought them to the castle door. They were greeted by a crazy-looking old man with a funny hat.

"Greetings, and welcome to Hogwarts! I am Albus Dumbledore…or, A.D. to you." He winked at Grissom. "I have summoned you here because…wait, weren't there supposed to be six of you?"

They looked around, and realized that Sara was missing.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, addressing the ogre, "did you see where our sixth guest went?"

Hagrid shook his head and mumbled, trying to hide his full mouth.

"Hagrid…" Dumbledore warned.

Hagrid sighed, and spit Sara out onto the ground. She immediately began shrieking about violation and rapists, for the sixtieth time that day.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you rapists and perverts! I've never felt so violated in my entire life! You men and your misogynistic tendencies! I am so sick of—"

"Miss Sidle," Dumbledore interrupted smoothly. "I assure you, this is by no means a habit restricted to women. Just look at Mr. Stokes."

Nick held up his arm. Where his left hand had once been, there was now a bloody stump. Hagrid grinned happily, revealing a mouthful of bones. Sara stared at him, horrified.

Suddenly, Dumbledore laughed delightedly. "JK!" he shouted, and waved his wand. Nick's hand appeared, brand new, on his wrist. He shook it gratefully.

Sara, still slightly shocked, turned to Dumbledore. Slowly, his prank began to sink in. She nodded slowly. "I see how it is around here."

Dumbledore smiled, thinking she would appreciate his joke.

"You thought you could scare me because I'm a WOMAN, didn't you? Didn't you! You chauvinistic, sick, perverted bastard! You thought that just because I'm a weak little GIRL, you could put one over on me! Well, not Sara Sidle!" she screamed, and punched Dumbledore in the jaw.

Catherine, immediately seeing her chance for a good beating, jumped in and began to pummel Dumbledore's stomach.

Greg, Nick, Grissom, and Warrick sat back and watched the show.

"Nothing I love more than a good old-man whupping," Nick said.

"Except DNA," mentioned Greg.

"Or gambling," sighed Warrick, shedding a lone tear at the thought of the beautiful slot machine from earlier that day.

Much to the chagrin of the entertained men, Hagrid promptly stopped the display by shoveling Sara once again into his mouth. Catherine was briefly tempted to go to town on the giant, but then remembered Sara's betrayal of the sisterhood and decided to let it rest.

"HAGRID!" Dumbledore (having healed himself very quickly) shouted, "SPIT HER OUT!"

"Oh no, don't do that on our account…" Grissom began.

"It isn't on your account. Poor Hagrid is on a diet and can't eat anything so high in cholesterol."

The door to the castle swung open again, and a coquettish voice called from within. "Darling, come back to bed. It's cold outside."

Dumbledore blushed furiously. "Just a minute, pookie-muffinpants."

"Didn't you call me that once, Grissom?" Sara asked. Grissom looked slightly ill. "Damn writers," he muttered.

Apparently, pookie-muffinpants did not want to wait just a minute. A boy with messy clown hair and green eyes emerged from the castle, wearing only a bedsheet and a rainbow clown wig.

"Kinky!" said Greg, and winked at the boy. The boy stared at them, horrified, and threw an accusing glance at Darling. "Why didn't you tell me they were here?"

"I tried, Love butter-butt," said Dumbledore repentantly.

Pookie-muffinpants, also known as Harry, looked to his left and came in contact with the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. They seemed to him never-ending pools of deep dark darkness that never ended. "Hi," said Nick charmingly.

Harry gulped and turned, only to be greeted by the second most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen in his life. They were as sparkling and clear as the blue, blue lake behind them…only without the squid. "I'm Catherine," said Catherine.

Harry turned yet again and was confronted by a third pair of eyes, almost (but not quite) as sparkling emerald green as his own, set into the face of a veritable buffet of manliness. "'Sup, want to gamble?" said Warrick.

Oh, God. Another pair of eyes hit him right between the…eyes, and he nearly staggered at their beauty. "I like bugs!" exclaimed Grissom, and popped something small and shiny into his mouth. Harry's knees buckled. There was nothing hotter than old guys eating bugs. In Harry's opinion, anyway.

Greg winked slightly more insistently, apparently waiting for a manly giggle as Harry's response. Instead, Harry nearly burst into tears. When Greg winked, only _one _of his insanely lovely eyes was visible. Those eyes…they were brown as mud, as sticks, as tree bark, really, really shiny tree bark.

Harry was forced to turn away from this deafening onslaught of beauty, lest he be lost in it forever. He turned and came face to face with Sara. She was just okay. She began to bat her eyelashes at him, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

"Pookie-muffinpants, why don't you go back inside? I have to show our guests to their rooms so they'll be all buckety-bug-eyed to solve that crime tomorrow!"

Harry nodded, and, coyly wiggling his fingers at the gorgeous group before him, he skipped back through the doors.

Dumbledore turned back to the ravishing CSIs. Mortified, he shouted, "What are you talking about? He's not a student! This is not statutory rape! What's with the Spanish Inquisition?! Jeeze, dudes!"

The unnaturally attractive CSIs stared at him, confused. Was he crazy? Schizophrenic? The symptoms were quite unambiguous; Dumbledore had begun to rant about how 'Freddie' should get off his back and stop jabbering all the time. Plus, he had said 'buckety-bug-eyed!' For anyone to take that phrase and actually use it in a sentence, they had to be crazy! None of the CSIs were trained to handle an actual crazy person (besides themselves)!

Finally, Dumbledore's cheek stopped twitching and he gave a winning smile. "Sorry about that, I have episodes…"

"Only crazy people have episodes," Greg snickered, and then began to cry. He fell on the ground in fetal position and wept in earnest. "Why, Why, Why?"

"He rests his case," said Grissom. "Now. Why have you summoned us here today?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Because I love you," Dumbledore blurted before he could stop himself. "I mean—"

"Why don't you love _me_?" asked Sara.

"Where are we?" asked Greg.

"Who are you?" asked Nick.

"Where's the nearest Casino?" asked Warrick.

"Enough!" shouted Dumbledore. "In good time, friends, you will learn the answers to your questions. But now…" he trailed off, "I've got a date!" and ran inside, back to his pookie-muffinpants.

The rest of them turned to Grissom. "What do we do now?"

Grissom smiled mysteriously. "What do CSIs ever do?"

They all looked at each other, and said together in a voice that seemed one,

"Pillow fight!"

Hours later, the CSIs were shown to their quarters. There was much jockeying of the rooming arrangements. Nick wanted to be in a room with Greg, but Greg wanted to stay with Catherine in her room, while she couldn't decide whether she wanted to room with Sara or Warrick, or both. Plus, the director kept trying to convince Grissom to room with Sara, but he was only interested in holing up by himself. It ended up being Nick, Greg, Catherine, and Warrick in one room, Grissom in another, and Sara alone and weeping in a third. After the room arrangements were made, the CSIs had a huddle to see whether their new comrades were friends or foes. They had seen some strange things at dinner; Nick's head was still shaped like a duck as the student had refused to give a counter-spell.

Naturally, the CSIs were used to odd things, having been involved in several…off cases at times in their lives (Fetish Week!), but they had never handled MAGIC before. Except that one time in Bermuda.

"Maybe we should call someone to help me with this," Nick suggested. "I don't think it's good for my brain."

No sooner had he said that, than a knock came at the door. They opened it to see a teenage girl with brown hair wearing a pink lacy negligee.

"You raaaang?" She crooned, sliding seductively against the doorframe. The CSIs blinked. Never before had such a beautiful, bushy-haired waif found her way into their presence.

"How you doin'?" said Greg, grinning. She giggled and winked back at him.

"Shut up Greg, she's like 12 years old," Catherine scolded, smacking him upside the head.

"That's never stopped any other fanfic before."

"Are you here to help me with my head?" Nick piped up.

"I'll help you with more than that, big boy." She made a little kissy-face. Nick gaped and his mouth, without his duck-shaped brain's direction, made a kissy face back. That was actually rather disturbing and not sexy at all, but the rest of them decided to overlook it.

"I'm Hermione," said the girl.

"Even her name, which would be ugly and weird on anyone else, is sexy," Greg swooned.

Hermione looked around the room and fell into a rapture, staring into the CSIs brown, blue, and green (but not as green as Harry's) eyes. "Who are y'all, eh?"

"Ehmagawd! She's a southerner and Canadian, all at once!" cried Sara enviously. She had secretly practiced saying 'y'all' in the mirror at night, but always sounded like she was on crack. It figured.

"I'm Grissom," said Grissom, dazedly. The director pounded his knee. Now this whole Grissom-Sara thing would never work.

"Well, howdy, Grissom," Hermione cooed.

"Holy shit! She's a cowboy too!"

Hermione, still staring into Grissom's pale blue, blue like the sky, blue like the sea, blue like my soul on a cloudy day, eyes, pointed her wand at Nick's head and said, "Un-duckify-ilions-podify!"

Nick's head was, thank God, beautiful again. Hermione gave a little squeal of delight at Nick's flooring pulchritude. "You're hot!" she squealed.

"Yes I am," said Nick in his characteristic Texas drawl.

She gasped. "You're a cowboy too!" She practically melted into a dreamy puddle of love.

Ew.


	3. Part Thra

Nnnkay, part thra is finally done! If you think we're on crack, you may be right! LOLZZZZZZ!!!!! Anyway, for the few who have read this: PLEASE, in the name of all that is holy, REVIEW! We're on our virtual knees!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Late, late that night, Grissom lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. For some reason, he couldn't get the image of Hermione Granger dancing the hokey pokey in a frilly red dress out of his mind. Her performance really had been memorable.

Sara had gotten up earlier because she could no longer stand the idea that her beloved Grissom might very well be sneaking out to see some adolescent ho, and Sara was missing it! It was inconceivable!

She went into the kitchen to prepare a Magic snack of Magic. She could really get used to this whole magic thing.

There was a loud knock on the door (which was invisible, making privacy difficult). Sarah looked up, surprised. It was two in the morning; who could be knocking? She looked up to the inconveniently invisible door

A gorgeously scruffy hunk of man-candy peered back at her. It appeared that his head was on fire. Along with his hot bod.

She left her snack on the counter and went to open the door. She was almost blinded by his radiance. She couldn't even tell what color his eyes were, so bright was his smile. It seemed to her a light from heaven. She opened the door, and was finally face to face with her angel. Now that she could see him clearly, she could tell that he was a little young for her tastes. Actually, he was quite young for her tastes. He wasn't even older than her, much less 15 years older. But he was gorgeous, and she was slightly desperate.

"Hayyy-yaaay," Sara cooed, wiggling her fingers. The boy looked confused. "Hi, I guess," he said. "I'm looking for my girlfriend. Have you seen her?"

Sara sighed. They always had girlfriends. "Stupid hormones," she muttered angrily. "Well, who's your girlfriend?"

The boy looked euphoric. "I scored an older chick," he said confidingly.

"I find that extremely offensive," Sara said, preparing herself for another futile feminist rant.

Catherine emerged from her room. "Hey, beau!" she squealed, and threw herself at Ron.

"Hey baby!" He…growled? It sounded like an attempted growl, but the voice crack in the middle kind of ruined the effect.

Sara raised her eyebrow. "What about the sisterhood?"

"Screw the sisterhood, I got me a boyfriend!"

The next morning, after another round of musical rooms (everyone wanted Hermione to stay with them; Dumbledore appeared and informed them that it against the rules for a student to stay with them, so, much to everyone's chagrin, she left), the CSIs gathered in their common room to meet with Dumbledore to discuss the reason why they were there.

After six hours of waiting, the CSIs had already gambled with pretzel sticks and cigarettes ("But none of us smoke…" mused Grissom), made out with each other, terrorized some students, written four collective romance novels, and grown a partridge in a pear tree. In short, they were bored, and Dumbledore still hadn't shown up.

Finally, he strode in the door, looking flushed and very disheveled. He elbowed Grissom knowingly.

The other CSIs looked at Grissom, confused. It appeared that he was using the same bad makeup as Sara; he was the same sickly shade of green. Sara wondered why Grissom had to steal her makeup when he already had so much of his own.

There was little time to dwell on this however, as Dumbledore promptly whisked them away to a bathroom somewhere in the castle. There was a banner sealing off the door that seemed like a type of police tape, except it was purple, with sparkly silver writing that scrolled along the tape. And, instead of "Police Line, Do Not Cross," it said "Happy Birthday Shmookies".

"It was left over from my birthday. I thought that it looked similar to the type of banner that you muggles generally use to tape off crime scenes."

"It looks just like the tape I use! I feel so at home!" Nick began to cry, homesickness washing over him like waves and filling him with black despair, despite the fact that they had only been gone for half a day.

They crossed the tape and entered the bathroom. Everything seemed to be in order…everything, except for the bloody corpse in the middle of the room. The group pulled their kits out of their pockets, and set to work documenting the scene.

The body lay on the floor in a pool of blood. There were footprints everywhere, and it seemed like a sort of dance had been done around the body. Furthermore, the body was covered and surrounded by cutlery. Knives, forks, spoons, whisks, tongs, sporks, spatulas, and a garlic press. And finally, the victim's head was bashed in.

"Looks like blunt force trauma," Sara commented. Way to go.

"Got some hair here," Greg said, another brilliant observation as the body was completely covered from head to toe in stray pieces of hair.

While Sara and Greg were stating the obvious, Nick was snooping around in the stalls. "Hey, guys? I think I found the murder weapon." He held up something wooden and floppy. The other CSIs gathered around to see what it was.

It was a puppet, mangled, and very bloody. In its uncommonly lovely, pale hands, it held a blow torch. It had light blond hair, matted with blood, and an aristocratic sneer that made Nick, Greg, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, and Grissom go weak at the knees. Whoa. Nice puppet.

"That looks just like my other boy-toy," Dumbledore supplied helpfully.

There was a loud knock on the door of the Slytherin Common room, and Crabbe and Goyle stopped making out (who didn't see that coming?) long enough to open the door.

Six CSIs and a perverted old man holding a puppet burst in, guns at the ready. Immediately, there was a rush towards the dormitories as people tried to hide the various illegal substances that they were smoking, injecting, inhaling, snorting, and swallowing.

After this mad dash, the only person left in the dormitory was Draco Malfoy, sitting in his usual armchair, grinning slightly at the scene before him.

During the invasion of the Common room, several events had transpired:

1. Grissom had spotted a spider and was now curled in the corner, talking to it softly.

2. Sara had tripped over her own feet and was in a pile on the floor, sobbing, because Grissom was paying more attention to the spider than her. What else was new?

3. Warrick had spotted an unfinished game of poker on the table and was now carrying on a taunting exchange with himself over who was going to win the 'jackpot of a lifetime.'

4. Nick started punching things

5. Greg found a hair on the floor and was trying to convince it to 'put its hands in the air and hand over its DNA!'

6. Catherine went on a furious rant because the hair Greg had found was red, the color of her sweetie's own luscious locks, and she was now convinced that Ronniekins was cheating on her with Greg. It wouldn't have been the first time.

7. Dumbledore, in the midst of all this excitement, had fallen into another one of his 'episodes' and was carrying on a spirited game of I-spy with 'Freddie.'

In short, Draco Malfoy was witnessing the mania of a lifetime. He couldn't decide whether to be terrified or enthralled. He desperately wanted to go hide somewhere, but he couldn't tear himself away from the sight of the muscular Texan railing on an armchair, or the dulcet tones of the beautiful blonde screaming at the spiky-haired hottie, whose assertiveness when dealing with the strand of hair was totally sexy. Then there was the beautiful man (whose eyes were almost, but not quite, as green as Harry's), playing a lonely game of poker. Draco wanted to join him more than anything. Well, almost anything. The real triumph of the room was: _her._

Nothing sexier than a klutz. Especially a sobbing, brunette klutz on the floor in a pile. Not that he ever would have admitted it.

Draco clapped loudly. "People!" he shouted. "Get a hold of yourselves."

Sara stopped crying. Nick stopped punching. Greg stopped extracting. Catherine stopped ranting. Warrick, amazingly, stopped gambling. Grissom continued talking to the spider.

"That's better," Draco said. "Now. Are you all here for a reason, or just to make my mouth water?" He froze. _Did I actually say that?_

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, because, at that very moment, the spider bit Grissom and the room was plunged into chaos once more.

"Come on! Just ten more dollars!" Warrick pleaded to an imaginary money-lender.

"Wh-why don't you love meeeeeee?" Sara bawled.

"I expressly forbade you from going near him! I know we've shared in the past, but Ronniekins is mine!" Catherine told Greg, who ignored her.

"I spy with my little eye, something…red," said Freddie.

"Come on! The DNA, or there are going to be consequences—"

_Crack. _Everyone stopped in their ranting and looked up. Nick had punched the chair too hard and it had collapsed pitifully. Draco made a mental note never to trust law enforcement. What a bunch of lunatics.

Grissom gave Nick a stern look and then they all went back to their babbling. Draco concluded that he was the only sane one in the room and, after a furtive glance around, slipped past Warrick and out the door.

About four hours later, Sara stopped crying long enough to search through the foggy contents of her mind, trying to find a reason why they could possibly be where they were.

"Hey guys," she said slowly. "Wasn't there a perp we were supposed to be after…?"

It appeared that God was at it again with that darn pause button. The entire room froze. Dumbledore stopped punching Freddie, Catherine stopped chewing on Greg's ankle, Greg stopped offering the hair a reduced sentence in return for information, Warrick stopped sobbing over his lost money, Nick stopped shooting rounds into the fireplace, and Grissom stopped his conversation with the spider over a candlelit dinner and nice glass of merlot. They all looked at each other with the same stunned expression.

"Oh _DAMN_."

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_**Newsflash**_: Contrary to popular belief, we like reviews! We really do! We will not come after you with a rake and a torch if you review! We will welcome your reviews with open arms! We can't promise you a cookie…but still!

P.S. Flames will be used to light Grissom's candles for his romantic dinner with his new spider friend, so don't be shy to throw some our way!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four…is more random than anything ever. Have fun trying to analyze the workings of our inner minds…and, you know, like, REVIEW!!!!!!

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Everyone scrambled to their feet, except for Freddie, who lay in a ball on the floor, crying. Dumbledore glared at him disgustedly. "Your blood, that's what's red!" he shouted. Freddie whimpered.

Nick looked at Dumbledore curiously and leaned over to Greg. "Do you think we have reason to suspect this guy?"

"Naw," Greg said jovially. "Don't be silly. He's not violent at all."

Grissom stood slowly and glared at the CSIs. "I have never been more disappointed in you in my life," he said heavily. "You totally abandoned your training in a hard situation! You really fell apart, guys!"

Greg raised his eyebrow. "Oh, really, Grissom? Well, what about your little spider babe?"

Grissom reddened. "She is a classy lady, more than I can say for your choice of partner!"

Greg smirked at Nick, who looked offended. "I am totally classy," he muttered, adjusting his very, very short skirt.

"Of course you are, sweet-cheeks." Greg said, and patted Nick on the butt.

Sara raised her hand. "I have a question…who are we looking for anyway?"

They all looked at each other, and realized that none of them had any idea.

"Dumbledore's boy-toy, right?" said Warrick, then he paused. "But which one?"

"There are so many…" Dumbledore mused. "I think it was Mrs. Norris…no, wait, she's my cat-toy."

Nick shuddered. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that."

Dumbledore paid him no mind. "I think it was…Seamus Finnigan!"

Ten minutes later, the CSIs stormed into the Gryffindor common room.

"Everybody down!" Catherine yelled, pointing her gun wildly at the two students quietly studying by the fire. They screamed and threw themselves down on the floor. Nick tackled them, cuffing them both.

"Okay, where is he?"

"Who?" They sobbed.

"Finnigan! Tell us where he is!"

"He's upstairs!"

Warrick and Sara pulled out their own guns and flattened themselves against the wall of the staircase. They crept up slowly, ready for the first sign of danger. They came to a thick wooden door, and they paused outside it. Warrick nodded to Sara, and kicked the door in.

"Freeze! This is the police! Hands in the air!"

Seamus Finnigan was standing next to a huge printing press that was sitting at the foot of Seamus's bed. He looked up, his face stricken with a mixture of guilt and terror, and yet, oddly, slight joy. Warrick leaped across the room with the grace of a bounding gazelle, and, in a movement that could only be described as deft, cuffed him to the bedpost.

"Warrick…that was hot," commented Sara.

"I agree!" swooned Seamus, Stockholm Syndrome quickly setting in.

Warrick paid them no mind however, as he was completely engrossed in booking his suspect. There were two things that completely engrossed Warrick; gambling (of course), and cuffing criminals to bedposts. For the first time in months, he finally got to experience the latter.

The machine at the end of Seamus's bed coughed weakly and spat out a few muggle dollars. Grissom picked up the money and examined it. "Just as I suspected," he said. "It's counterfeit." More brilliant observations.

"It's the perp! It's the perp!" Sara chanted, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. "Yay!"

"We solved the case! It's a counterfeit operation!" Warrick joined in. Then he stopped. "Wait. Weren't we solving a murder?"

Seamus broke down in tears as Grissom slapped his forehead. "Guys! Not _again!" _

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After that slight mishap, Grissom forced each one of the CSIs to make a 'non-hyper pact' in which they swore that they would focus on the case, and not gambling, DNA, Ronniekins, feminism, or punching, respectively. Fortunately, he found a way to manipulate the pact so he didn't have to swear off his bugs.

Then, they went to go interrogate Dumbledore about more of his boy-toys. They came out of that meeting with a list of about a hundred and forty names. Grissom sighed. "We've got out work cut out for us."

They managed to cross off the first eight names on the list with a little trip to the graveyard.

"I've been around for a long time, you seriously expect me to keep track?" Dumbledore protested.

The next twenty three they found to be sitting in the super-duper wizard prison, Azkaban. Apparently, Dumbledore prefered bad boys.

Grissom called the team into a huddle. "Okay, guys, This is obviously not working. Time to get SCIENCEY." They all cheered.

"Here we go, guys. 1, 2, 3…GO SCIENCE!"

Greg whipped out his handy-dandy fingerprint powder and began to dust the sheet of paper. Slowly, several fingerprints emerged. Dumbledore apparated the group to his magical Lab in the Sky. They ran the fingerprints through AFIS.

"It's a match," said Grissom heavily. "Caucasian male, approximately _n-_years old. Albus Dumbledore."

In a flash, Warrick had Dumbledore cuffed to the oddly-placed bedpost, attatched to the seemingly gratuitous lab-bed.

"But I wrote the list!" exclaimed Dumbledore.

Sara, ignoring him, decided to go on a rant. "You _bastard!" _she screeched. "We trusted you to help us solve the counterfeit operation—murder, and you betrayed us! How dare you! You stupid man! I hate men!"

There was only one way to placate her. Grissom laid a hand on her arm, and she melted into putty. "Guys," he addressed his team, "I think we may have missed something."

Greg snapped his fingers. "Damn, I thought I had it."

Nick patted his shoulder. "One day, Greggo, one day."

Greggo looked up at the ceiling for a second, deep in thought. "Or maybe…today."

The conviction in his voice caused the other CSIs, and Dumbledore, to turn their heads and stare. Dumbledore giggled and added Greg's name to his boy-toy list.

Greg blinked and shook his head. "Nope, lost it. Never mind."

"So, guys," Nick said, feeling a little left out with all the attention Greg was getting. Nick was easily as hot as Greg, if not hotter! Why did Greg get on the boy-toy list, and not him? He paused. On second thought, he didn't want to be on the list. "What do you want to do now?"

"Let's order pizza!" said Catherine, inspired.

"Let's gamble!" said Warrick, drooling.

"I meant about the _case." _

"Oh, that," Sara pouted.

Grissom stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I think its time we reassessed our options."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nick asked.

"It means we're going to get a pizza."

Oh no. He should have known better. Pizza had the same effect on his team as chocolate. Except louder.

"CHEESE ONION OLIVE PEPPERONI PINAPPLE POKER CHIP!" Six voices screamed at once. Grissom put his hands over his ears and curled into a fetal position. So loud…so loud…

The other six stopped yelling and stared at him. "Damn, now who's going to order the pizza?" wondered Catherine.

The same thought struck all of them at once. The one to order the pizza…got to choose the toppings. They looked at each other.

This was war.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Several hours later, the group, bruised and bloody, sat down to their poker chip pizza (Warrick had triumphed over the less-crazed members of the team). Grissom had recovered from his noise induced panic attack, and was deep in thought over what to do next.

"How about we go back to the list?"

"That'll take _forever_! We still have one hundred and nine names left."

"Wait!" Grissom shouted, jumping up and knocking his pizza onto the floor. He paused for a moment, mourning it. It was a good pizza. "Let's identify the victim! Maybe that could lead us to the killer!"

For about the fiftieth time that day, the group was stunned into silence.

"We didn't identify the vic?"

Grissom shook his head.

Cue the collective forehead-smack.

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The CSIs had a slight problem. And, as usual, in the face of adversity, they…broke down.

"Why, why, why?" sobbed Greg.

"Oh, God. God, no! No!" cried Sarah.

"Praying Mantis. Tse tse fly. Arachnids," Grissom chanted, trying to calm himself.

The crime scene had been swept. Swept clean, like Snow White's cottage, only without the cute, pudgy little animals. The blood on the floor was gone, the body absent, and the cutlery arranged into an artful structure that reminded one of Modern Art. Nick, in a rage, punched the sculpture and accidentally impaled himself upon a fork.

"The pain makes me feel alive," he murmured, half to himself.

Grissom stared at the clean floor, feeling a mixture of terror and claustrophobia. "They got us," he muttered. "They got us _good. _Jesus."

"Yes?" asked Warrick, forgetting, for a moment, that he was not in fact Our Lord and Savior. Everyone ignored him, and he trailed off and stared at the floor miserably. Boy, did he ever need his Blackjack fix.

"Grissy, baby, what do we do?" Surprisingly, it was Greg who asked this, and not Sara.

"I know!" blurted Nick before anyone could stop him. "We can kill another person and place his body here so no one will now how royally we screwed this up!"

"You say that every time," Catherine said. "Seriously, how could we get so lucky more than once?"

"It did work, though," Nick argued.

"My scruples may be limited, but at least they exist," Catherine shot back.

"Hey Catherine," snickered Greg, "your scruples are showing."

"All right, people," Grissom said authoritatively. "Here's what we do."

The CSIs had never heard a plan so grotesque, so sickening, so immoral, and so damn _brilliant. _They stared at Grissom in awe.

"You are an effing genius," said Grissom to himself, as the others were too shocked to compliment him. He waited a bit, expectantly. "And handsome to boot," he added hopefully.

He was still getting a nice view of his team's incisors as they gaped at him.

"And athletic." Grissom sighed. Dimwits.

Finally, Catherine snapped out of it. "Grissom," she said in awe.

"Yes?"

"What is it?"

"It," he said, pointing to the huge robotic, pulsating, mutated, blood spewing, dancing, cutlery-covered contraption behind them, "is my super-duper crime scene simulating masterpiece."

They all nodded, smiling to supress their gag reflexes.

"See," Grissom explained, "the blood simulates the spurting experienced when one is stabbed by a fork, demonstrated by our own Nick Stokes."

"The physical pain distracts me from my emotional anguish," Nick announced to no one in particular.

Grissom cleared his throat and continued. "I combined that data with simulated profuse bleeding from a head wound caused by a puppet. Then I programmed in the exact dance steps done around the body, gathered from the footprint pattern around the body. Finally, I allowed for the variable of the copius amounts of metal surrounding the body. Pretty soon, it should spit out a transcript of exactly what occurred here."

Catherine raised her eyebrow. "Wow, Grissom, you…"

"Are perfect in every way? I know," Grissom said, smugly.

"Actually, I was going to say that you have no life whatsoever."

"Oh. That too."

They were distracted by a printing sound coming from the…machine behind them. Grissom approached it (how he managed to do so without vomiting was beyond the rest of the CSIs), and pulled a piece of paper out of a slot. He quickly skimmed it, and turned pale.

"Team…what I am about to read you may be the most terrifying piece of information you have ever experienced. It could scar you for life. Before I begin, I encourage all of you to seek therapy when we're done."

Greg gulped. "Read it quick, Grissom. What happened?"

Grissom looked confused. "What happened? Ooh, no, this isn't the transcript of the crime, this is my cholesterol level. _This_," he whipped another piece of paper, "Is the crime scene transcript."

"WHAT DOES IT SAY WHAT DOES IT SAY?" The five CSIs shouted eagerly, jumping up and down.

"It says this…" Grissom said, and began to read.

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BWAHAHA, now you HAVE to read the next chapter. I hope that this story is something like a car crash; it's terrible, but you can't look away…meaning, you can't stop reading. Even if you all hate it…we're having fun writing it. But hey, don't let me put words in your mouth, tell us what you think! Plz? Reviews? Kthx!


	5. Chapter 5

Charlotte's note:

Thank you so much to our reviewers, who are fabulous, few, and far between.

Note: We have nothing against people from Texas, unless you're conservative, or George Bush. So, if George Bush is reading this right now, go hide in a hole!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"It says…?" Catherine prompted. There was no answer.

The CSIs stared at each other, somewhat confused. It appeared that Grissom had fallen _asleep. _

"Is he…?" Greg left the question lingering.

"I think so," answered Nick, quietly. Grissom gave a loud snore.

"What do we do?" whispered Sara. This was not the way she had imagined seeing Grissom asleep for the first time.

"Like…kick him or something?" Catherine suggested, before going back to texting her hottie. She showed Sara the screen and giggled. "He's so cute!"

Sara nodded, a pained smile pasted on her face. Ronniekins had written, "Luv U bB! Ur I's r sooooo pretty!"

"Focus!" said Nick, glowering. What did that Ron guy have that _he _didn't? Nick was easily as hot, if not hotter—

Nick's train of thought was crashed by a loud yelp from Greg, who had tried to kick Grissom in the thigh. "Jeeze," he said, "Grissom's muscles are like steel!"

"I know," Sara purred. Since Grissom was unable to hear her, the rest of the CSIs were happy to gag for him.

"Seriously," Warrick said, in a brief moment of lucidity. "What do we do?"

Greg looked at the others uncertainly. Would saying this reveal his secret? He couldn't bear the shame. But—it was his duty… "Do you—think—we should—just, like—read the paper—ourselves?" he stuttered, idiotically. "It's—right there, in his hands…"

The CSIs looked at each other, nervously. "You do it," blurted Catherine, to no one in particular.

There was a loaded pause, as they collectively realized that none of them could read.

Nick looked to Dumbledore. "You wrote the note that brought us here, you must be able to read!"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I just put down random letters and hoped that you would get the messege."

"You mean you didn't mean to say that you loved Grissom?"

"Well…what I meant to do was promise you wealth, women, and and endless supply of Floam, but I do love Grissom. And whatever I wrote did get you here, so I guess I win."

Greg was staring at him. Floam…the very thought made his mouth water. Beautiful Floam…more beautiful than the beautiful Hermione. The thought of a lifetime supply of Floam…floam…floam…

Grissom gave a loud, rousing snore that caused Warrick to leap into the air and fall into Sara, who burst into tears. "All of a sudden," she sobbed, "I just got the strangest feeling that I'm going to be kidnapped by the miniature killer!"

"The who?" Nick asked, but there was no time for Sara to answer, for, at that moment, the door to the bathroom opened, and Neville Longbottom strode in. His innocent brown eyes shined from beneath an adorably scruffy mop of brown hair. His slightly protruding teeth and numerous freckles completed the portrait of youthful beauty. Warrick gasped, and, for once, his thoughts were occupied with something other than gambling.

"One of the few students who's not on my list of boy-toys," Dumbledore explained dully. Neville looked chastened. "Just wanted to do my beauty routine," he said humbly, trying for a joke.

"I don't see why," Dumbledore said snidely, "It won't help you."

Neville looked at his feet. "Oh. Well, I guess I'll use another bathroom."

"That's okay," said Catherine, feeling bad, "You can stay."

"Yes," said Warrick, suavely, "Please do." He appeared to be the only one who had fallen prey to Neville's minimal charms, which was lucky, because the CSIs really couldn't afford to be fighting over another person.

Neville raised his eyes hopefully. "Thanks, but I don't want to interrupt you…" He began shuffling towards the door.

Sara watched Warrick with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, she jumped forward. "Stay!" she practically screeched. "I love you!"

Neville threw himself into her arms. "I thought you'd never say so! I thought I'd be a spinster forever!"

Warrick gaped at Sara, crushed. Sara stared back, defiantly, and then looked to Grissom who snored loudly. Her brilliant maneuver was…sort of working. She hadn't gotten Grissom's attention, but she had managed to piss off Warrick. Served him right for loving gambling more than her. She looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention. Nick and Greg were busy dramatically staring into each other's eyes. Catherine was giggling and texting Ronniekins. Sara sighed. She couldn't have everyone all the time, she reasoned, ignoring the fact that most of the time she didn't have anyone.

She gave a little sigh of disgust as Neville started sobbing into her shoulder. She hadn't, of course, counted on becoming some adolescent's babysitter/statutory rapist, but hey. You never knew where life was going to take you.

At that moment, Catherine gave a particularly high pitched giggle, and Greg squealed loudly over a piece of Catherine hair he had stolen off her head. Nick, angry that Greg had stopped paying attention to him, punched a glass bowl, shattering it to pieces. Warrick gave a howl of jealousy and began to beat his chest in rage, a supernova 800 million light-years away exploded, the earth tilted another 67.5 degrees on its axis, and the apocalypse came and went several times. Any of these events on their own would not have been enough to stir Grissom, but when they all occurred simulataneously, he was shaken awake.

"AAAAAOOOOAGHAAAAAAAAEEEE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, expressing his outrage at this Series of Unfortunate Events TM, and, in the process, dropping the synopsis of the crime scene…

Where it rolled across the floor and down a drain. Once again, the CSIs found themselves in a position to say,

"Oh. Shit."

The chaos ended abruptly, and the group stared at the drain, unbelieving.

Greg blinked. "How did that even roll? It was a sheet of paper."

Grissom sighed. "I guess science has betrayed us once again. We must find a new way to solve this crime."

Greg shook his fist in the air. "Damn you science! We give you everything we have and you turn your back on us! Why? WHY?!" He dropped to the floor, head in his hands, sobbing. Dumbledore seized his chance, and dashed to comfort Greg, but was intercepted by Grissom, who needed some comfort of his own. Dumbledore briefly considered hexing him to get him out of the way, but then decided that Grissom was the next best thing after Greg and went with it. Good thing, too, because if Dumbledore had laid a finger on Greg, Nick would have kicked his you-know-what from here to cell block D.

Neville looked up, his tear-streaked face sending off gratuitous rainbows on the walls. At first, he was slightly shocked, seeing his Headmaster and some random dude making out, but he was quickly distracted by those other two hotter random dudes making out, one wearing an awkwardly short skirt. Neville, momentarily, wondered if he was not in Kansas anymore, but then realized that there had to be a whole crap-load of closet gays in Kansas, and this sort of thing probably happened all the time there. Not like in Tex-ass, where the conservatives were packed in like sardines.

Then, Neville remembered what he had resurfaced from Sara's shoulder to say. "Crime?" he asked tremulously.

Two pairs of people abruptly stopped making out, and all six of the CSIs stared at each other, a practice that appeared to be becoming quite common.

"Oh, right," Grissom said slowly, "We were supposed to be solving a _crime." _

"Crime?" Nick asked, puzzled. It appeared that he had forgotten the entire concept of the word.

"Yeah," said Greg, dazedly, "You know, with the killing, and the…laws…"

"Oh," Nick scoffed. "Who wants to deal with that?"

Greg grinned and shrugged, and they started making out again.

"Hey hey hey, come on guys. Get this under control," Catherine said, stepping in between them and hurling them across the room. "The sooner we solve this, the sooner I get back to my Ronniekins (who just sent me the funniest text, by the way giggle). So LET'S DO THIS!"

Greg pulled himself out of the indentation he had made in the wall when he slammed into it, thrown by Catherine in her overly motivated state. "But how are we supposed to solve a crime without science?"

Catherine shrugged. "Interrogate people until someone cracks?"

Neville raised his head hopefully. Maybe he finally had a chance to be uselful! For once in his life! "I know someone we can interrogate!"

"Is it someone hot?" Nick asked hopefully, much to Greg's chagrin.

"Well, _I _certainly think so!" Neville nodded enthusiastically.

Unfortunately for the CSIs, that was not saying very much.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"He's right in here," Neville whispered. He had led them to an oddly placed painting of a bowl of fruit, and was now molesting a pear as the CSIs looked on in horror.

Sunddenly, the painting fell away, and a bustling kitchen was revealed, filled with tiny persons who had eyes like tennis balls, according to J.K. Rowling's illustrator.

"There!" Neville shouted, pointing at none other than the esteemed Dobby, esq.

"Mr. Neville!" Dobby squeaked. "Such an honor it is to meet your friendses!"

The CSIs stared at him, blinking. Never before had such a strange, grammatically challenged creature crossed their paths.

"What the hell are you?" Greg scoffed, "The elementary school dropout child of Yoda and Gollum?"

The other CSIs giggled. Dobby, not fully grasping the point of Greg's quip (due partly to his lack of experience in American pop culture, partly to his pure stupidity), giggled along with them.

That was when Warrick noticed the fork in Dobby's hand.

"GET DOWN! HE HAS A FORK!" He roared, shoving the rest of the group to the floor. He vaulted off their backs, did a backflip, and cuffed Dobby to the conveniently-placed bedpost.

Grissom raised his head cautiously. "Warrick?" he said hesitantly, "What are you doing?"

Warrick pointed to a very confused (yet obliging) Dobby. "He was armed and dangerous, he had a fork!"

Grissom blinked. "What does a fork have to do with anything…OH." He suddenly remembered the abundance of silverware around the murder victim. "Good job, Warrick. You get a gold star."

Warrick jumped up and down and clapped his hands. "I get a gold star! I get a gold star! Wheee!"

Grissom smacked the sticker on Warrick's forehead. "Okay! Shut up now!" he rasped.

"Excuse me," said Neville, "But I happen to know for a fact that Dobby had nothing to do with the murder."

"Oh, really? And how?" Grissom asked haughtily.

Neville pulled a picture out of his pocket and handed it to Nick, an air of gravity surrounding his person.

Greg stared at the picture. "He's _right," _he said dazedly. "I've never seen such concrete proof…"

Grissom grabbed the picture and examined it closely. In the scene, Dobby stood in front of a door, holding a sign that said, "I DIDN'T DO IT!"

Grissom gasped. "I've never been more convinced in my life! Brilliant!" In his eagerness, he grabbed the hacksaw he usually kept in his pocket and whacked off the bedpost in one blow, sending Dobby flying across the room.

Sara was fixated on the hacksaw. "That is so _hot," _she whispered.

"I agree," said a conversational voice to their left.

Quickly, the entire herd whipped their heads around so fast that cream would have become RediWhip.

Draco Malfoy kicked his legs back and forth, balanced on the counter-top. "Hello," he said.

Suddenly, the light finally went on in Grissom's attic. "You—you were the kid we were supposed to interrogate—before…" he trailed off. "I met my sweetums!" He produced the spider from his pocket and proceeded to whisper slightly stale nothings at it. Dumbledore looked affronted, and turned away.

"Draco Malfoy," he sneered, folding his arms. Draco gave a cordial nod.

"I thought he was one of your boy-toys," Sara said.

"He was until he stole my Pookie muffin-pants!" Dumbledore declared hotly (in more than one sense of the word).

Draco smiled at Sara conspiratorially. "Me and Potter had a little—thing," he said vaguely, gesturing.

"Lucky," said Sara wistfully.

Grissom's attic light flickered on again. "INTERROGATE!" he screamed, pointing at Draco, before falling into another wave of useless babbling.

Catherine held up her phone. "You'll never guess what Ronniekins just asked me—"

She never finished her sentence, because at that moment Warrick's CSI senses tingled, and without a word he gave a line-backer-like grunt and tacked Draco. "Where were you on the night of the thirty-second?" he demanded, before passing out cold.

From under him came the faint voice of Draco. "Well, this is certainly interesting."

And it was. Greg and Nick had begun to make out again.

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Maddy's note:

I feel like I had so little input in this…I still think it's effing hilarious. Maybe even the funniest yet. The chapters just seem to be getting more and more cracktastic. But you tell us what you think. Thanks so much for your reviews, you THREE WONDERFUL PEOPLE 3333 Everyone else, follow their example. Plz? Kthxbye!


	6. Chapter 6

Yolla, G-chilllzzzzz! Sorry we've been so long writing this chapter, but we've had a busy week. Or several weeks. So, hope no one's forgotten about the story, and hope we haven't lost our touch! See ya, g's. I'm outie. Audi. Whatever.

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Draco squirmed under Warrick's massive bulk. While at first he hadn't minded being trapped beneath the muscular, six-foot-tall, beautiful CSI, it had been five hours, and his extremities had began to turn blue. He wiggled, freeing his head from Warrick's armpit, and surveyed the room. It seemed that everyone else had fallen asleep as well. The CSIs had dropped where they were standing. Dumbledore was muttering something about gravy and windsocks. The house elves had climbed into a pile, and were snoring loudly, in harmony.

Draco blinked, and assessed his options. He could, a) fall asleep himself, but if he did he couldn't guarantee that gangrene wouldn't have set in by the time he woke up, b) scream for help, but from what he had seen so far of the CSIs, waking them suddenly could lead to some unfortunate consequences, or c) continue to struggle to get free, even though he wasn't sure he could dislodge the gigantic man on top of him.

He chose c, because he really needed to get back to his…work. Yeah, that was it, work.

Draco kicked the back of Warrick's knee experimentally. Warrick made a sound akin to this: "Hyusgthkk!" and, surprisingly, kicked back. The force of this made the floor crumble under his incredible strength. With a resounding crack, Draco and Warrick fell through the floor.

"Spin that money wheel!" screamed Warrick as he was awakened quite rudely. Draco flumped harmlessly on the floor next to him. "Where are we?" he whispered in a hushed tone.

Warrick looked around, blinking in the darkness. He had expected to wake to the bright lights and loud sounds of his favorite Vegas casino (which one was his favorite, you ask? All of them), but instead he was in the dark, with a small blond boy who was most definitely not a slot machine. Or a roulette wheel, for that matter.

Warrick grunted. "We're in some kind of underground room."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant observation," he said dryly, "I'm sure that's why you're a CSI."

Warrick grinned. "Of course, I'm the best. I can get air off a print…" He paused, and wrinkled his forehead. "Wait, I think I got that wrong."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm glad we have such a capable force to depend on in our time of trouble."

Warrick grinned and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "You're welcome!"

Draco shifted his gaze to their surroundings. "I think this is a secret tunnel."

"I dug one of those from the crime lab to the nearest casino, so I could commute easily without Grissom knowing," Warrick reminisced.

"Damn," Draco said, "To think I used to trust the police."

"Do you know where this tunnel goes?"

"No. The only other tunnel I know of is the one that connects my room to all the girls' rooms in the castle. And most of the boys'."

Warrick growled. "As long as you keep your filthy paws off my one and only love (besides gambling), Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom!" Draco snorted. "I wouldn't have a secret tryst with him if he paid me! Which he actually tried to do once."

Warrick's eyes grew wide. "My darling is a…a…TART?!"

"He's quite good in bed, too," Draco remarked.

"I thought you said—"

"Never mind," Draco said hastily.

"Holy mother of Foxwoods," Warrick muttered. "Well, now we're lost. What do we do?"

"I have a good idea! Let's panic and run blindly ahead, possibly into the clutches of some evil villain, with absolutely no control of our bodily functions!"

"I did that last Tuesday," Warrick said disappointedly. "Can't we think of something new?"

Draco cocked his head and looked at the ceiling, then back to Warrick. "Want to make out?"

Warrick grinned. "When in doubt, make out, right?"

"You got it, stud."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The crash that resulted from the crumbling floor set into motion the rare series of events with enough magnitude to wake Grissom and the rest of the Las Vegas team.

First, the vibrations disloged a small house elf named Bloopy from her assigned place in the pile (the sleeping pile was a meticulously planned affair). She popped out and rolled across the floor, leaving a Bloopy-sized hole in the middle of the pile. The pile began to tremble, and exploded. House elves flew everywhere, and several landed in the fireplace. This resulted in flaming house elves running around the kitchen, searching for the fire extinquisher that someone bought on a whim at a yard sale.

Flaming house elves are a pretty intense occurance, but not enough on their own to wake Grissom, even when one began to search his hair for the elusive extinguisher. It was enough to wake Greg though, who promptly began giggling hysterically. He found flaming house elves hilarious.

His maniacal laughter woke Nick, who immediately jumped to see who was making Greg laugh more than he ever could. Nick was trapped beneath Catherine, who was thrown to the side, which woke her up. Her resulting cry of "RAPE!" had Sara instantly on her feet, wielding the rape kit she kept in her pocket.

The combined chaos of angry feminists, crazy Greg, insanely jealous Nick, and flaming house elves, was _just_ enough to make Grissom stir an eyelash.

The single eyelash, however, stirred so violently that Grissom was thrown into the wall. "Aaaagh," he groaned, rubbing his head, before he promptly tripped and fell right into the hole in the floor.

The other CSIs looked at each other. "Um, I didn't see anything!" Greg exclaimed.

"Me neither!" Catherine laughed nervously. "Want to—go for ice cream?"

"You bet!"

The CSIs left in a tight huddle, cheered by the thought of ice cream to come.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Grissom had a brief crying fit over this new turn of events. With Hawthorne Heights playing in the background, he had just taken out his exacto knife when fortune came a-calling in the form to two guys making out.

"Warrick! Making out on the job?"

Warrick looked up, his eyes unfocused. "Who are you? Who? Who?"

"I respect your judgement!" Grissom praised him. "I'd like to join you, but I need a partner."

"What about Sweetums?"

Grissom grimaced. "She's got a slight head cold." He patted the spider sympathetically.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Let's just follow the tunnel and see if there's some drug dealer lying about who will make out with you for a nominal fee."

"Good idea!" Grissom exclaimed. "Drugs make people cool and less socially inhibited!"

"Like gambling!" Warrick agreed enthusiastically. They began to walk.

Draco looked around at the walls of the tunnel nervously. "Something about this seems so familiar."

"Hey, look!" Warrick exclaimed. "Someone carved your intials on the wall!"

Sure enough, the letters DM+ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ were carved into the wall, surrounded by a giant, slightly lopsided heart.

"Gee, I wonder what that means," Draco laughed nervously.

Grissom and Warrick looked at each other and grinned. "INVESTIGATE!" They shouted in unison, throwing their fists in the air. Warrick whipped out his camera and started snapping pictures, and Grissom opened a jar of fingerprint powder and tossed it all onto the wall. Both he and Warrick attacked the wall with brushes, while Draco huddled against the wall, blinded by Warrick's flash.

Suddenly, Warrick stopped. "PRINT!" He got down on all fours, barked, and pointed at the print.

Grissom smiled and patted his head. "Good boy, Warrick." He pulled a piece of tape out of his pocket and collected the print. "Now, how do I process this…"

There was a dull thud behind them. The three men turned to see Dumbledore pushing himself up off the ground. "That's the last time I dive into the first hole I see when I wake up," he croaked. "Of course, I say that every time I do it…I just can't seem to stop…"

He was interrupted by Grissom shoving a print into his face. "Lab sky!" Grissom screamed incomprehensibly. "Yayayayayayayaya!"

Once Dumbledore had apparated them to the Lab in the Sky, and the print had been run through AFIS, Grissom read the results out loud.

He sighed sadly. "That print belongs to one Draco Malfoy, caucasian male, seventeen years old." He shook his head. "God damnit, I was actually starting to like you," he told Draco, who looked at him guiltily.

"_You?" _Warrick screeched. "You bastard! You were the killer this whole time! Oh my God, to think that I made out with you!" He spat repeatedly on the floor.

Grissom's face crumpled, and he began to cry. "I loved you!" he sobbed, smacking Draco across the face.

"But—but—" Draco stuttered.

"Just because you have a good butt doesn't mean you're getting out of this, mister!"

"But that print has nothing to do with the killer! You just got it off a random wall."

Grissom and Warrick abruptly stopped their ranting.

"_Damn,"_ Grissom said, snapping his fingers.

"But then, how did your print get on the wall?" Warrick asked.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't—_oh." _

"What?"

"Um, I think I may have accidentally built that tunnel."

"…Accidentally?"

"Yeah, I was trying to build a tunnel back to my room, but I went the wrong way for about 500 yards. So I abandoned it."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. "Isn't it against school rules to build secret tunnels?"

Draco wiggled his eyebrows. "You didn't seem to remember that when I asked you if I could."

"You asked me…OH." Dumbledore blushed and turned away while Draco smirked in a satisfied manner. Like the cat who caught the canary. Or the Draco that caught the Dumbledore. Or the blue whale that caught the krill. Or the monkey that caught the banana. Or the…well, you get the idea.

"Let's go back to the tunnel and expose secrets!" whooped Warrick. He grabbed Dumbledore's wand, and waved it at them.

Chaos ensued.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After going for ice cream, Nick, Greg, Catherine and Sara returned to the kitchen, where the house elves had given up trying to find the fire extinguisher and were sitting around playing backgammon, still on fire. Greg almost began giggling, but an angry look from Nick silenced him. Nick could be very commanding at times, even though usually he was completely and utterly whipped.

Instead of giggling, Greg stuffed his fist in his mouth. Unfortunately, his lack of self-control caused him to punch the back of his mouth so hard that he was bowled over and straight down into the tunnel.

"That was impossibly hot," Nick said, shocked. He leaned over the hole. "I'm coming, sweetie!"

"Counting the moments!" came the faint reply as Nick flung himself headfirst into the pit.

Being the last holdouts, Catherine and Sara stared at each other. "Wanna talk about how much we hate men?" Sara said finally.

"No," Catherine said, and walked away, texting her hottie.

Sara curled up on the ground and cried.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Nick, by some happy accident, fell directly next to Greg, whose fist had become lodged once more in his mouth.

"Uhh-aa-oo!" said Greg earnestly.

"I love you too!" screamed Nick, jumping into Greg's arms. Unfortunately, Greg was still lying on the floor, so Nick landed directly on his chest.

"Aaaahhhhh!" Greg screamed, finally dislodging his fist from his mouth.

Nick, blissfully unaware, cooed happily. "Marry me, G."

"Uhhh-uuhh," Greg said painfully. Nick mistook this as agreement. "Oh honey!" he exclaimed. "We'll have to get flowers! And a band! I'll buy a dress! We'll serve undercooked chicken!"

Greg tried unsuccessfully to bat Nick off his chest.

"Oooh, Greg, don't get randy on school property!"

"Can't—breathe," Greg managed to wheeze.

"Aw, honey. You take my breath away too!"

Greg was beginning to black out, and turned to his last resort. He prodded Nick sharply between his 45th and 28th ribs, and the older man promptly launched off Greg's body, landing 15 feet away and curling into a ball, whimpering sadly. Greg sat up, catching his breath. He turned to Nick, and sighed in pity. "Sorry, toots, but I'm not ready for that kind of commitment. I'm a tiger, I need to roam!"

"My life is over," Nick said conversationally.

Greg looked past him. "Oh my God," he said, "Who is that fine hunk of man candy?"

"Hello everyone," said Blaise. "I hope I haven't missed much."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hey guys, sorry this took so long. I didn't feel like writing, and then I did but Charlotte didn't. So it isn't entirely my fault. G-chillzzzz.

Anyway, I'm not sure that this chapter is really up to snuff. It's pretty good, I guess…hey how about YOU tell us what you think? Plz?

Kthxby. Love you guys 


	7. Chapter 7

Greg often began to pant at inopportune moments, scaring away many a potential suitor. Fortunately, Nick was as crazy as him and usually didn't mind.

Blaise, however, was a little freaked out.

"Who—who are you?" Greg panted. "You're hot!"

"It's Blaise. Blaise Zabini."

"Keep your hands off my man, Blaise Zabini!" Nick shrieked.

Greg inored them both, captivated by Blaise's exceptional form. It was unclear whether or not he was black or Italian, but to Greg, it didn't matter. He was _beautiful,_ with his smooth black/white skin and melodious harmonious arguably non-existent Italian accent.

Luckily for him, Greg's panting attack lasted only moments, and he quickly composed himself. "Quick, say something witty!" he thought.

"Turn on the air conditioning, because it's getting hot in here!"

Blaise just stared at him. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard such a lame pickup line. Actually, he couldn't remember the last timer he had heard any pickup line. Romance was a little dry in this tunnel.

Nick's fit of unwarranted jealousy had passed, and he was suddenly lucid. "Hey, Blaise, what's up with your clothes?"

Blaise looked down at his tiny, tattered, extremely out-of-date clothing. "Oh, I've just been down here for a while."

Greg snickered. "Nice bloomers."

"Thanks."

"Zabini," Nick said. "Is that Italian?"

"No one knows," Blaise said, shrugging.

"Well, what are you doing down here, wearing eighteenth century hot-pants?"

"Erm, Draco brought me down here one day, blindfolded me, broke my wand and both my legs, and stole all my food and water."

"Why?"

"Shits and giggles, I suppose."

"Draco's hot," Greg said intelligently.

"Don't I know it," Blaise said, grinning.

"You still like the guy after he trapped you down here?"

Blaise shrugged. "What can I say? He's hawt."

"So are you," Greg said, exhibiting his brilliance once more.

"Where does this tunnel lead, anyway?" Nick asked.

"Well…" Blaise began, "I don't know if I should show you…Draco doesn't want people knowing…"

Nick and Greg looked at each other, then jumped on Blaise, yelling, "SECRETS SECRETS SECRETS!" They bounced up and down on the scantily dressed teenager, their excitement over Super Special Secrets outweighing their attraction to the cutie beneath them.

Blaise coughed weakly as he felt yet another rib break. Although Nick and Greg were the hottest men he'd seen in a long time (actually, they were the only men he'd seen in a long time), he wasn't a big fan of pain. Well, only in the right context…

"All right!" wheezed Blaise. "I'll show you! But we're going to have to walk extremely slow."

"Why?"

"Uh, because the authors asked us to."

"Oh. Well then."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Chaos ensued. _

The CSIs were not unused to chaos. However, Warrick and Grissom were not quite prepared for the hideous sight that met their eyes.

Dumbledore, who had unfortunately been in the way of the wand when Warrick had waved it, was gone.

In his place sat a gelatinous mess in the shape of a walrus, wearing a pair of pleather leiderhosen.

They could have sat there and stared all day if the walrus hadn't charged them, spitting globs of acidic slop.

Grissom screamed and jumped on Warrick, who sent forth a strangled cry and frantically waved the wand again while screwing his eyes tightly shut.

_Chaos ensued._

Grissom sighed. "All this chaos is getting a little annoying."

"Don't I know it," Dumbledore's head agreed mournfully, while his body ran off in the opposite direction, waving its arms frantically.

"Can we, like, fix this?" Warrick asked. "I'm getting a little freaked out."

"Give me the wand," said Dumbledore. Warrick placed it neatly in the disembodied head's mouth.

Dumbledore prepared to shake his head and speak the incantation, but as the chapter isn't even close to over, naturally this was doomed to fail.

For, at that very moment, Freddie reared his ugly head.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sara stood up and shook herself off, rubbing her head. "That's the last time I try to fling myself into a never-ending abyss," she grumbled. "They always end up…ending."

She looked around. "Is anybody here?" she shouted.

There was suddenly a large crack, and then a bang, and then some sort of crash, and then an oof, and then Sara got bored. "Who is it, already?" she screeched.

Draco stood up and brushed himself off. "Yo, sweet-thang," he said casually.

"Where did you come from?"

"I apparated from the Lab in the Sky."

"You remind me of Grissom," Sara said dreamily, and sidled (no pun intended) up to him. "Date me?"

"Sure," Draco said. "As long as you like to share. As you may know, I'm am one g-chilled playa."

"Fine by me. I'll take whatever I can get."

Draco began to walk. "There are a few ground rules I'd like to set down." 

"Like what?" Sara asked, tripping after him clumsily.

"First of all, never call me by name in public. You will refer to me as, "Ehmagawd, it's _the _Draco Malfoy!" Second, you will never touch my person directly, unless you explicity obtain permission in writing. Third, you will vow to tend to my every need—"

"Wait a minute," Sara interjected, "What's in this for me?"

Draco grinned and dug in his pocket. He drew out a small pin and handed it to Sara. "That's the best part."

Sara stared at the button. It was green with purple psychedelic squiggles, and depicted _the _Draco Malfoy, cheekily winking and giving her a thumbs-up. The button read: "_The _Draco Malfoy condescended to make eye contact with me!"

"Holy shit!" Sara shrieked. "I'm FAMOUS!"

"Damn right, sweet thang."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

After Freddie had destroyed the Lab in the Sky, cleaned out Warrick after four and a quarter games of poker, eaten Grissom's head (then refused to restore it by magic for over three hours), and won a screaming contest with Dumbledore, he finally fell asleep.

"Warrick," Grissom whispered urgently. "Here's our chance. You're trained in exorcisms, aren't you?"

"I haven't done one since Linda Blair!" Warrick exclaimed nervously.

"Just do it, and I won't chop your head off!" Grissom snarled.

"Yes! I love it when you don't chop my head off!" Warrick jumped into action. "Okay, I'm gonna need a skeletal candle, seven yards of black velvet, the blood of a newborn lamb, eye of newt, hair of dog, and the gunshot wound of a popular rapper."

Grissom pullled the pile out of his pocket. "Whatever. I carry this stuff around with me all the time. Give me a challenge!"

Warrick quickly made a shrine and placed Freddie on his knees in front of it. "Okay, now pour the lamb's blood on your shoes and dance in a circle around Freddie," he told Grissom.

As Grissom did so, Warrick began to chant. "Flooree rah roo----mah groooooooop!" he screamed. "Demons—Demons—begone!"

Abruptly, Dumbledore fell over and began to sob in the fetal position. "Why, why, why?" he bawled.

Warrick stared at the pattern made by Grissom's bloody shoes on the floor. "Hey, Grissom, does that look familiar to you?"

Grissom stepped back. "No. Way."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco rushed ahead, leaving Sara panting and wheezing behind him. "Wait up!" she called.

"No! We have to get to my secret lair before Blaise gets there."

"Who? Is he hot?"

"He's _my_ bitch," Draco growled. "Hands off."

"Why do we have to get there before him?"

"Because he's going to show Nick and Greg my secret. And that must not happen."

"I know your secret," Sara said coyly, and pinched his butt.

"Hey, hey! What did I say about physical contact without written permission?"

Sara sighed. "You really are just like Grissom."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Take a picture!" Warrick exclaimed. "Take it!"

Grissom did. "I can't believe it! We like totally solved the case, dude!"

"Like yeah!" Warrick agreed. "Except we still don't know who did it. Or how. Or why. Or when."

"Minor details," said Grissom. "C'mon, we've got to show this to the guys back in the tunnel."

After they had given Dumbledore a lollipop to assuage his crying fit, he willingly apparated them back to the tunnel.

Warrick looked around. "Where is everyone?"

"Dunno. Hey, we lost Draco," Dumbledore said.

Grissom burst into tears. "Why?" he screamed. "Alas, Malfoy, I had loved you so!"

Warrick was busy spinning around, watching his skirt puff out around him. "I'm a little tulip!" he giggled. "Wait, what?"

"Whyyyyyyyyyyy!" Grissom shrieked in his ear.

"Let's follow this tunnel wherever it may lead!" exclaimed Warrick.

"To life!" said Dumbledore.

"To liberty!" said Warrick.

"To Draco!" said Grissom.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A storm was a-brewing in the bowels of Hogwarts. Three forces careened towards each other at high speed, and the castle held its breath for their meeting.

Catherine, however, was making out in a corner with Ronniekins.

Suddenly, she felt the ground shudder, and pulled away. "Ronniekins, darling, what was that?"

"Probably just Seamus and his counterfeit machine again. It's been having problems, he's supposed to have a mechanic all up in this hizzouse today."

"Oh." Catherine leaned in to make out again.

There was another shudder. "What _is_ that?" Catherine said, annoyed.

"It's probably just—"

Ronniekins never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment the floor gave and they fell through, still making out.

"Damn," Catherine said when she came up for air, "The floors in this school are crap."

"You're tellin' me," said Draco, upon whom Catherine had landed. "I am getting so sick of this."

Sara looked chastened. "I'm sorry."

Draoc turned on her. "I told you that hitting the celing with that broomstick was a bad idea!"

"It made a funny sound," Sara explained softly to Catherine and Ron.

Draco sighed. "Well, now that Hottie and the Weasel (whom I also find quite hot) are here, we might as well _all _go to the lair. Here are your buttons," he told Ron and Catherine, distributing the buttons. "From now on, you will both be my bitches as well. You are only to refer to me as—"

"Hey hey hey!" Ronniekins protested, "I am NOBODY'S bitch!"

"Shut up, bitch," said Catherine sharply. Ron shut up.

"Can we get going? Remember, we're trying to beat Blaise, Nick, and Greg," Sara interrupted.

"Fine," huffed Draco. "You two just read this short informational pamphlet."

Ron and Catherine accepted the pamphlets and stared. The cover said, "All You Need to Know About Being Draco's Bitch and Kissing Draco's Ass," and showed Draco, winking as he brandished a leash and collar.

"That's hot," Ron said.

"We should go," Sarah repeated. "We don't want them to get there before—"

She was cut short, however, as the four of them were bowled over by the people in question. They lifted their heads up to see Nick and Greg pulling a chariot, which Blaise was driving with a long whip in hand. He cracked it, and yelled "Onward! Victory is within our grasp! Do not lose heart!"

The three bitches looked to their leader, who grinned. "What, you don't think I'm prepared for this kind of thing?" He pulled what looked like a pen out of his pocket, and clicked the button. There was a loud buzzing as the ceiling above them opened, and a totally tricked-out chariod with sick dubs dropped down in front of them. Draco pulled a whip out of his pocket, and winked at them.

Oh yeah. This was going to be good.


	8. Return of the Jedi! WRITERS!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Ehmagawd, finally a new chapter! Sorry for the wait, g-chillzz, but Maddy went to college and got all lazy and does nothing but moon around with her boyfriend. BOOO! Hissss! Anyway, hope you enjoy, because it's going to take us another fifty years at this rate. If you want a chapter sooner, I highly recommend starting a riot at University of Connecticut to kick Maddy's butt into gear. Anyway. Excelsior!

oooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Never before had Hogwarts seen such a race. Except for that one time in

Bermuda.

The chariots were neck and neck, the whips cracking, Draco's sick spinners flashing, Blaise's hair blowing in the wind. They thundered down the tunnel, the pullers running like their lives depended on it, until they felt their hearts would burst—

Actually, what happened was that Nick and Greg kept stopping to make out on the way, and Blaise enjoyed the view too much to complain. Sara kept tripping over her own feet, and Catherine and Ron, in their zeal, would drag her behind them until she got caught in the wheels of the chariot, snagged on a rock, or Draco intervened (it was usually one of the former). "Good thing you're indestructible," Catherine would say every time, patting her shoulder before taking a page out of Nick and Greg's book and furiously making out with Ron.

Finally, Blaise's hormones acted up, and they flung him out of his chariot of their own accord. "Make out!" screamed the hormones, throwing themselves around in Blaise's brain.

The only one who was free, besides the still-crushed Sara, was Draco, who sat in his chariot cockily, watching his bitches have their fun. Blaise immediately flung himself into Draco's chariot.

Unfortunately, just as they started to make out, Blaise's foot hit the chariot, pushing it ahead just enough to cause it to roll down the hill that had conveniently appeared because the authors asked it to. Draco and Blaise were too engrossed in their making out to notice, so the only thing to alert them was the "Ahhhhhhh-oooo-eeeowwwwww!" of a Sara being crushed.

Catherine and Ron were dragged along as well, rolling under the wheels as they continued to make out.

Nick and Greg turned away from each other long enough to watch the whole mess speeding down the hill away from them. They both shrugged, and resumed their game of tonsil hockey.

A shout came from behind them. "Nick! Greg! Is that you? Grissom, I found them! Guys, look what we have!" Warrick raced towards them waving the photograph of the bloody footprints, Grissom and Dumbledore hot on his heels. In his zeal he slammed into the chariot, sending it over the hill. Grissom and Dumbledore ran after it, screaming "MY EVIDENCE!" and "GERIATRIC TREACLE!" respectively.

The two chariots zoomed along, carrying, dragging, and trailing the large group of crazies down the tunnel, until, with a great crash and sprinkling of splinters, they slammed into a huge wooden doorway that ended the tunnel.

Draco poked his head up from under the pile of wood that was once his chariot. He sighed sadly as he watched what remained of one of his dope spinners roll by. And he had worked so hard to get on "Pimp My Chariot," too. "All my bitches okay?" He called.

Catherine, Ronniekins, Sara, Blaise, Dumbledore, and Grissom popped up and affirmed their status as "okay." Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Grissom, but he was always open to new bitches, and wordlessly passed him the pamphlet and button. The other five showed him their buttons proudly.

Warrick popped up from under the rubble, screaming as usual, "Who's yo daddy! Who's yo daddy, you damn gamblin' machine!" He reached for the nearest arm, which happened to be Blaise's, and yanked it fiercely. Blaise yelped and threw Warrick into a wall, where the CSI lay crumpled, his leg twitching, as he muttered, "Poker…do the polka…"

"He's fallen asleep," Grissom said helpfully.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Draco. "Now, if I may, I'd like to lead you all away from this big suspicious door and into another part of the castle entirely—"

"Why?" Grissom asked. "What are you hiding?"

Draco sighed and pulled his bitch whistle out of his pocket. He blew it. "Bitches assemble!"

Immediately, the six bitches formed a line behind Draco. Catherine, who was at the front, saluted. "Yes sir!" they called in unison.

Draco began to lead them away, but it was no avail.

If only, if only, they hadn't underestimated Warrick.

Warrick, who didn't even need to wake up in order to cause chaos. He gave a jerk in his sleep, dreaming of blackjack, that was so strong it caused everything in the vicinity, including the carriage under which Nick and Greg lay, to explode. This momentarily dislodged the couple from making out. Distracted, Greg looked up, saw a big door, and ran for it.

Ran into it actually. And then ran through it, sending it flying in fifty directions. Nick, Warrick, and the bitches, who had been released from the spell Draco had put upon them with his bitch whistle, saw the gaping hole where the door used to be, looked at each other, and bolted through it and into the room beyond.

"_Day-yaaaam," _said Draco.

OOOOoOOOOOOOOoOOOOOOoOOOOOoOOOOOOo

"_**OMFG,"**_ said Grissom.

And that was the end of the world as they knew it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOooOOOOOOoOOOOOOOOOOOOooOOOOOOO

Draco blew his bitch whistle again, trying futilely to bring his bitches back to order. Unfortunately, they were so engrossed in his deepest darkest secret that the only response to the whistle was Warrick, in his usually twitchy manner, bashed Draco over the head.

Meanwhile, Greg lay on the floor, groaning and rubbing his head. "That's the last time I run into the first huge wooden door I see when I wake up…those mothers HURT." Nick rushed to his side, babbling pledges of everlasting love and devotion. Greg simply blinked and allowed himself to be bandaged. Whether this was from laziness or massive brain injury was not clear.

Grissom was too engrossed in his surroundings to be interested in the plights of anyone else. His eyes roved over the walls as he realized that they had stumbled upon the casebreaker. The answers to all their questions (Who was the victim? Why was he killed? Would Grissom ever find true love?) seemed imminent.

Before him stretched shelves and shelves of wooden puppets, as far as the eye could see. Hundreds and hundreds of puppets were organized into six sections: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, People I Find Hot (this was by far the largest section) and Random People I Saw in My Dreams. The room was filled to capacity except for a single empty spot.

On a large podium in the middle of the room, a plush velvet pillow sat bare and lonely. The podium was labeled, in sparkley gold letters, The Hottest Fking Person Ever. Grissom's mouth began to water at the thought of someone even _hotter _than his sweetiepie (who had made her way out of his pocket and was currently chewing on his leg), but sadly, the puppet was missing.

He dashed over to the podium with his kit, intent of solving The Mystery of the Missing Hottie. He circled it quickly, his dagger-sharp mind instantly assessing what needed to be done. He snapped his fingers, and his team assembled in front of him. The Grissom Snap was more potent than even the bitch whistle, and the CSI's were powerless to resist.

"Stop! Drop! Roll!" Grissom screeched at the team, who looked at each other, confused. This might have been some code that they were supposed to have learned in CSI school, but as most of them dropped out before they finished their first year, they were perplexed. Finally, each of them looked at the others, shrugged, followed Grissom's instructions, literally.

Amidst the sea of rolling, roiling CSI's, Draco snuck furtively towards the door. Unfortunately, as most schemes in Hogwarts, his was destined to fail. Nick had become especially entranced by his own rolling, and had made a break for the door was well, with the intent of showing the world his superior rolling technique. He rolled right into Draco, who fell over and into Nick's arms. Epiphany ensued.

As they gazed into each other's eyes, fireworks exploded, cannons blazed, and a nearby chorus of angels began to raise their voices in heavenly song. They blinked slowly, unable to look away. Big dark darkness of darkity dark met bright silver grey blue green violet, and they knew that they were meant for each other.

Greg howled.

OOOOOOOooOOoOOooOOoOOooooOOoOooOOoooOOOOoOOOooOOOOO

Thanks, Charlotte, for telling them where I live…anyway, sorry for the delay. I accept all responsibility. But, come on guys, college. Boyfriend. You understand, right?

I hope you like it, it's been a long time coming. Peace out homes.

3333333


End file.
